Maybe tonight I'll sleep...though I don't know why I bothered trying to fix it when I know I won't do anything productive with it anyway. What was it he wrote...my regrets are stupid? I meant it when I told him I don't know how to feel about what he wrote...it's just a fan-fiction...I like the book...but that part...he knew it would hit me. I don't know what he wanted from it. A reaction? I'm so far beyond such things in public settings. I've molded that mask and layered it far too many times. For me to feel something? For me to know I could talk to him? I don't get it. I could just be reading into it...but I know I'm not. Words have meaning...guess I'll just ask. Yet I know the answer. Partially. And asking is just going to lead to a conversation...why...
